


Child of Love

by candelina



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Feels, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fem!Jaskier, Fluff and Smut, Geraskier, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Surprises, Tender Sex, Vaginal Sex, Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), love is power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candelina/pseuds/candelina
Summary: Juliana Aneta Pankratz, better known as Jaskier, has always believed in Love. Being a poetess and a romantic at heart, she has fallen in love with the very idea of it since she was child. Of course, this means that she has also fallen in love with many different people along the way, but now her heart belongs to one person only: Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Their love is great and a great love is always powerful.The question is… are they ready to face the consequences of that power?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. The news

***

The bathtub filled with hot water stands in middle of the room while Jaskier moves a stool behind it and then places some towels on the bed, ready to be used. 

The room is narrow, but they have had much worse. Besides, after weeks of travelling on the road and sleeping under the stars – as romantic as it can be – even an old, dirty mattress would be a luxury. This time, they have been luckier and managed to find a cosy inn with simple but nice and comfortable furniture. And a bed. A real bed which is also very soft to the touch, so it doesn’t matter that it’s meant to welcome only one person. It’s never been a problem for them, after all.

Turning her head towards the window, Jaskier’s blue gaze meets the darkness of the autumn night. It contrasts with the warm aura of the candles she lit as soon as she stepped into the room. She finished her performance at the tavern only half an hour ago but she has had all the time to prepare the bath and her oils. A proud smile spreads on her delicate lips. It’s going to be a lovely night.

She doesn’t hear the footsteps until the door creaks open. Her witcher comes in, allowing her to take in the sight of blood and dirt on his armour.

“Geralt. Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head slightly, while intense amber eyes scan the room.

She sighs in relief and gently reaches for his hand, drawing him closer. Then, she starts working his armour to take it off, while the witcher’s gaze is fixed on the tub, as if making sure it wasn’t just a mirage. Carefully, once she has put the armour aside, she also helps him out of the rest of his clothes. She’s pleased to see that there are, indeed, no fresh injuries.

“I take it the contract has gone well?”

Geralt gives her an affirmative grunt.

She pecks him on the cheek and murmurs, “Go on, my dear witcher. It’s still warm.”

Apparently, he doesn’t need to be told twice and soon steps into the bathtub. A long sigh leaves his mouth as his body sinks in the water.

He relaxes almost immediately. Closed eyes, head tilted slightly backwards, exposed throat and no frown or wrinkled brow. This is how Jaskier knows Geralt feels safe. It’s a rare and beautiful sight. Well, not so rare anymore for her, but that doesn’t make it any less special. Her gaze is momently drawn by the witcher’s large hands that are washing his biceps absentmindedly. She blinks to wake herself from her little reverie, remembering that she has one more task to complete.

She walks behind the bathtub and sits down on the stool, before running her fingers in the witcher’s moonlight hair. She washes it with skilled gestures, while humming a soft tune.

Geralt is silent for long moments, but then he slowly turns his head to the side, and Jaskier stops her own movements.

“Join me.”

His low, husky voice sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. But she won’t allow it to ruin her plans. Not tonight. “Next time, darling. Right now, I want you to relax and enjoy your well-deserved bath.” She lets her hands fall on Geralt’s broad shoulders and starts massaging his tensed muscles. As she presses her palms against the wet skin in the right spots, Jaskier leans a bit closer to whisper next to his ear. “Then, we will go to bed.”

“Hmm.”

The grunt sounds satisfied enough. She tries focusing on her job again, which is quite hard, knowing that the massive body she’s touching now will soon be holding her down, pressing her against the mattress and–

“I know what you’re doing.”

Jaskier can’t see his face, but she could bet that Geralt is smirking as he says those words. With her hands still on his shoulders, she replies with a fake innocent tone, “Taking care of my witcher, the love of my life?”

“You’re getting me ready for what will come after. I can smell it.”

Jaskier chuckles lightly. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that her witcher knows her so well, especially after spending a decade travelling together. Without thinking, she’s leaning closer again and her lips brush tenderly against the bare skin of Geralt’s neck. She wanted to take this slowly, enjoy every second of these peaceful moments in the intimacy of their room, but how could anyone think clearly in front of such a gorgeous work of art? “So, I have been caught.”

“You aren’t really subtle.”

Geralt’s words are barely above a whisper and Jaskier manages to draw a shaky breath from him as she kisses a sensitive spot under his ear.

Then, he shifts his position in the tub and turns around just enough to face her. The candlelight caresses the witcher’s strong jaw and she can’t look away from those bright golden eyes while Geralt lifts his hand to cup her cheek and brings them closer. Their noses touch before their lips do. She tilts her head, following his mouth, and slowly the kiss deepens.

It takes a lot of willpower, but before they can go too far, Jaskier pulls away and the slightest hint of a pout appears on Geralt’s face. She gives him one of her sweetest smiles as an apology and stands up. She hasn’t given up her plans for tonight, as she walks towards the bed and sways her hips suggestively. 

The splash of water coming from the bathtub tells her that it’s working. Turning around, her gaze inevitably falls on the huge gift the gods themselves must have granted her witcher. No one can blame her if she starts blushing while Geralt smirks and steps closer, stark naked and beautiful.

“Oh, no, no, no, no. Don’t come any closer without drying yourself off first. You’ll get the bed all soaked.” She shakes her finger in front of him and Geralt frowns but stops obediently. Quickly, Jaskier grabs the towels she has prepared and throws them at his face.

While he’s busy and not looking, she takes her boots off and then begins to unbutton her trousers.

When Geralt catches her eye again, she’s only wearing her aquamarine chemise and nothing else. The towel he’s holding falls on the floor and his lips part slightly, without making any sound.

If she didn’t before, she definitely has her witcher’s attention now. As Jaskier sits on the bed, Geralt’s predatory gaze follows her every move as if planning an attack. When his patience runs out, Geralt crosses the space between the two of them and bends over to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.

She doesn’t waste time to wrap her arms around her witcher’s neck and pulls him down with her.

“Your hair… still wet.” Jaskier pants, once the kiss is over.

“You should’ve thought about it before tempting me like this.”

“A tiny price to pay… for a wonderful night in a real bed.”

To show his own enthusiasm, Geralt kisses her again. His warm lips meet her soft skin, her mouth, her cheek, her neck. He supports his weight on one hand, while the other wanders on her body, down her side, her hip, and then settles on her thigh. His fingers curl around the hem of Jaskier’s chemise, lifting it to touch more of her bare skin.

“You aren’t wearing…”

“No.”

Her witcher smiles against her neck and lets his large hand travel upwards until he reaches her chest fondles it gently. She moans and tightens her grip on his hair.

“Take it off.”

Geralt growls as he pulls away to help Jaskier pull the chemise over her head and toss it on the floor.

They press against each other again, every inch of skin, until it’s impossible to say where one starts and the other ends.

He bites her ear softly, her neck, her collarbone and then moves downwards, kissing her breast. She gasps when she feels his hot breath near her nipple. His tongue soon follows, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her.

“Geralt… please.”

“What do you want, bard?”

“I want you.” She cups his cheek to make him look up at her. “And your cock.”

They share a knowing smile, and Geralt starts leaving a trail of kisses down her torso, on the stomach, and then moves to her inner thigh. He leaves a few bites there as well and buries his nose near her pubic hair.

“This scent.” He hums appreciatively.

When his tongue meets the very sensitive skin between her thighs, Jaskier throws her head back on the pillow with a loud moan.

Although she’d likely get wet without his help, he licks her dutifully without rushing. They have been sleeping together since spring and all those months have taught them how to pleasure each other in the best ways. Geralt – with his talented tongue – uses this knowledge perfectly well. Very rarely her past lovers have managed to satisfy her like this.

“I’m– oh, _fuck_ , Geralt–”

When her witcher pulls away, she whines at the loss but fortunately it doesn’t last long. His tongue is soon replaced by one of his fingers, which stretches her until he can add a second finger. But it’s not enough.

“Please, darling, please. I’m ready.”

“Patience, Jaskier.”

Geralt chuckles and bends down to taste her neck again. Hungry teeth and warm lips mark her skin as one more finger fills her cunt and it’s too much and yet not enough at all.

“ _Geralt_.”

She receives a dangerous growl in response and shivers when her witcher pulls his fingers out. Grabbing his cock, he lines himself up with her hole and finally, _finally_ starts to push in.

“Fuck. You’re always so tight for me.”

When he’s halfway inside, Geralt pulls back slightly and gives an experimental thrust. “No more rich lords or pretty ladies, no more husbands or wives. Just me.”

Then, he gives another but stronger one, and Jaskier gasps. 

“Only you– fuck, yes, Geralt. There’s only you. No one else.”

She rolls her hips to encourage his movements and her hands reach around his shoulders to pull him down. And Geralt goes. His mouth immediately searches for hers while he buries himself as deep as he can. He swallows her obscene moans as they begin to move together against each other. A familiar, intimate, sinful dance.

Jaskier scratches the skin of Geralt’s back with her nails, leaving marks of her own, and her witcher groans in pleasure. As they pick up the pace, she can feel herself getting closer to her orgasm.

“ _Yes, yes, yes_ – please, don’t stop.”

Geralt doesn’t. He has learnt where to find her sweet spot and when he starts hitting it, Jaskier sees the stars.

The way she screams her witcher’s name might wake the whole inn, but it’s not like Jaskier cares to spare a single thought for that right now.

Geralt soon follows her with his own climax, spilling all of it inside her. It leaves both of them breathless and sweaty like always, but they will never complain. Instead, they share a chaste kiss on the lips before Geralt rolls off Jaskier’s body.

Once she has caught her breath, Jaskier shifts her position to lie on her side and look at her witcher. Half-closed amber eyes, swollen lips parted slightly and messy white hair. She could write infinite songs and poems about the blissful expression on his handsome face in the afterglow. She wouldn’t let anyone read them, though.

Geralt lifts the blanket to cover their bodies and reaches behind Jaskier with his arm, enveloping her with warmth. His golden gaze reflects her blue as they look into each other’s eyes while resting their heads on one shared pillow.

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier blinks a few times before her mind registers the words. When it does, an excited grin spreads across her face.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

***

A light veil of snow covers the path on the mountain. The last couple of days have been exhausting, but finally the keep comes into view.

Jaskier can see her breath in the cold air, as she huffs. Geralt squeezes her hand with one of his, while holding Roach’s reins with the other.

_Almost there_. For more than ten years the place has been an ancient and mysterious secret, but also the only home Geralt has ever known. Jaskier has tried to imagine it many times, wondering what it could be like, but she has never dared ask. Her witcher used to be always reserved about his life, especially the first few years they travelled together. His trust didn’t come easily. He ignored her, tried to leave her behind, shot her suspicious glances when she kept following. He was always alert, but little by little he began to open up with her. Now, as they stand together outside the gate, that feels like an eternity ago.

Two large figures walk towards them and when Jaskier’s gaze shifts to Geralt’s face, her witcher is smiling.

“About time.”

The red-headed witcher grumbles, while the dark-haired one steps closer with a wide grin on his scarred face.

Geralt lets go of Jaskier’s hand to pull his brothers in a tight hug. When they step back, her witcher turns to her and announces proudly, “Eskel, Lambert. This is my bard, Jaskier.”

“Fucking finally.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier. We’ve heard _a lot_ about you.” Eskel – who she recognises from Geralt’s descriptions – holds out his hand and smirks at her.

“The pleasure is all mine, Eskel.” Jaskier shakes his large hand and returns the smile. “I think it would be even more pleasurable if we got inside before I can freeze to death.”

Lambert snorts, while Eskel nods and steps towards Roach. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? You have just arrived. Go on. I’ll take the mare to the stable.”

“Thank you.” Geralt and Jaskier say at the same time and chuckle.

He leads her inside the keep, in the great hall, where firewood is burning and warming the room from the hearth.

“Sit there. I’ll take the bags to our room.” 

_Our room._

Jaskier beams at him, nodding without question, and rushes in front of the fire, before sitting down on soft furs.

“Be nice.”

She hears Geralt say to Lambert, in way which reminds her of him talking to Roach. The red-haired witcher grumbles something, but then Geralt pats him on the back and they share a genuine grin.

That is the most she has seen Geralt smile in company of anyone else, except her. It warms her heart even more than the fire that warms her body.

This is going to be the best winter of her life.

In the evening, Geralt introduces Jaskier to Vesemir, his old mentor and the last occupant of the keep. The conversation the five of them have at dinner shifts from embarrassing stories of a young and eager Geralt to other funny memories and dangerous adventures, until the oldest witcher and Jaskier find out about a shared interest in the history of the Continent. He promises to show her the library tomorrow and tells her she can do as much research as she desires. Lambert is curious to hear her play and sing, which is flattering, and Jaskier would happily indulge in such a request, but she is too exhausted tonight.

When she starts yawning, Geralt insists they retire to their room so they can rest. They say their goodnights and go up the stairs.

There’s enough space for both of them in the room, a lovely wardrobe where she can put all her clothes and most importantly, a rather large bed. Jaskier throws herself on it and nuzzles against the soft furs. They won’t be cold tonight. Quickly, she changes into her nightdress while Geralt strips down to his smallclothes. 

Together, they settle under the blankets and immediately Jaskier presses close to her witcher. Ah, yes, her personal heat source.

“I love it here. And I’m so happy I could finally meet your family.”

Geralt wraps his strong arm around her and places a tender kiss on her chestnut hair. “I’m happy you’re here.”

Jaskier closes her eyes. Lulled by the sound of her witcher’s gentle heartbeat, she quietly falls asleep with a smile on her face and one last thought on her mind.

_This is home._

***

The large door opens before her and as soon as she steps into the room, Jaskier knows this is going to be her favourite place in Kaer Morhen.

The library is even huger than the one in Oxenfurt, with infinite shelves full of ancient books and forgotten stories. A humble bard can do nothing but gape in front of so much sacred knowledge.

“You can come here every time you want.” The old witcher says, behind her.

“Thank you, Vesemir. This means a lot for me.”

“I should be the one thanking you for what you have done with my pup.”

They lock eyes for a moment, understanding without speaking, while his words awake a warm feeling in Jaskier’s chest. 

After Vesemir leaves, she starts her exploration of the magnificent library. The section of poetry attracts her first. She picks up a book which has a title written in Elder and runs her fingers on the dark red cover, embellished with golden borders. 

_Law of the Heart_.

Or is it _Law of Love_? Hard to say. The choice of that specific word makes the meaning unclear. It could be translated in both ways. She’ll have to do more research on this.

As soon as Jaskier begins to flick through the pages, she raises dust from it which causes her nose to twitch and makes her sneeze. She places the book on the table at the centre of the room and takes a piece of cloth to clean it before trying to read again. The handkerchief slips from her hand and falls on the floor, so she crouches down to pick it up, but the quick movement makes her stomach churn unpleasantly. 

Before she can even understand what’s going on, she sprints towards the window and flings it open. The breakfast she had that morning goes up in her throat and she has to cough it up.

She’s gasping for breath when a blast of winter breeze blows her hair in front of her face. She quickly closes the window to return to the warmth of the room. 

Then, taking a seat, she furrows her brows and clicks her tongue in hope to get rid of the disgusting taste that’s left in her mouth.

She hasn’t had anything strange for breakfast that might cause such a reaction. Perhaps, she has just eaten too much or too fast. Geralt has always provided them both with as much food as he could hunt during the path up the mountain, but it’s nothing compared to a warm meal in a cosy place. Jaskier may have indulged herself a bit more than the usual since they arrived at the keep. She’ll just have to be more careful from now on.

With that thought in mind, she returns to the book, eager to start reading ancient poems and maybe take inspiration for her new compositions.

***

Lunchtime arrives sooner than predicted. Geralt comes searching for her after he finished his morning training and they head to the main hall.

The others are already waiting there.

“Hurry up, you two! The soup is getting cold.”

“Sorry, it’s my fault. I got too caught up in a book.” Jaskier’s stomach begins to rumble as soon as she sits at the long table, with Geralt next to her. “This looks delicious.”

“Eskel cooked it. It’s his turn today.”

She smiles at the man in question and without wasting any more time, she grabs the spoon and starts eating. As simple as it might seem, the soup is actually full of nutritious food, mainly vegetables and meat. She can taste everything.

Lambert laughs. “Someone has been starving lately.”

“What?” Jaskier asks before even swallowing the piece of meat she is chewing. If she could, she would frown at herself. This isn’t the first time she has behaved like this since they came here. Where the fuck are her manners? Her gaze falls on the bowl in front of her. It’s already almost empty. Warmth spreads across her cheeks and she tries to hide it while wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“I didn’t know you were so hungry.”

Jaskier lifts her head and meets Geralt’s slightly concerned eyes. “Oh, no, it’s… the soup was just really good, is all.”

“At least someone appreciates it.” 

Eskel’s comment draws a few chuckles from the other witchers. They continue to eat in silence until towards the end Lambert suggests they play a round of Gwent.

Geralt agrees, of course, and they quickly fetch their cards. While they’re busy, Jaskier goes to her and Geralt’s room to take her lute. If there’s something this place lacks, that is music. But that’s also why Jaskier is here and she did promise yesterday that she’d play for them. When she returns to the main hall, the three younger witchers are still playing their game, while Vesemir is reading a book on a chair near the fire.

The old witcher looks up as soon as she takes the last step on the stairs and he gestures her to sit next to him. 

Jaskier smiles and complies happily before placing the lute in her lap. She begins strumming the strings gently and silence falls again in the huge room. Four pairs of golden eyes turn to her as she sings the first note of simple yet enjoyable song that matches the peaceful atmosphere of the afternoon.

When the song comes to an end, both Lambert and Eskel starts clapping their hands. Vesemir joins as well.

“Now I see what all the fuss is about.” The red-haired witcher teases, turning to Geralt.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier grins widely and stands up to bow in front of her special audience. In that precise moment, something twists inside her between her stomach and her sternum, and then it goes up in her throat. 

“Jaskier!”

Geralt is at her side in an instant, but he can’t do much more than watch as she throws up everything she has just eaten. Her witcher takes the lute from her hand and gently rubs circles on her back.

Someone hands her a piece of cloth, which she’s grateful for. She coughs in her fist and then wipes her mouth, grimacing at the terrible waste of food on the carpet. 

“So much for good soup.” Lambert mumbles behind them.

Geralt glares at him but quickly turns his attention to Jaskier.

“Are you alright?” He asks while leading her to sit down again.

“Yes, I think so.” She tries to reassure him. “I just feel a bit weird.”

Geralt doesn’t seem convinced, if the scowl on his face is anything to go by. He turns to Eskel. “What did you put in the soup?”

“The usual.” The dark-haired witcher shrugs but looks down at Jaskier with concern. “Nothing that might cause this reaction.”

“It’s not Eskel’s fault.” Jaskier blurts out before she can think.

Geralt’s gaze shifts to her again. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not… it’s not the soup.” She stares down at her own lap while fidgeting with the handkerchief that she’s still holding. “It happened this morning, as well. While I was in the library.”

Golden eyes widen at the revelation and her witcher slowly crouches down in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. “Jaskier. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugs and mentally scolds herself for not following her own advice. “It’s nothing, I’m sure. I’ve just been a little too eager with food lately. It’ll stop as soon as I start eating normally again.”

“You could be sick.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Geralt. I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” Geralt scrutinises her as if trying to decide whether she’s right or not. Then, he turns away. “Vesemir.”

The old mentor’s gaze shifts between him and Jaskier. “I can examine you, if you want.”

The word ‘no’ is on her lips, because this is absurd, she’s completely fine and they’re exaggerating. But when she turns towards Geralt, he’s looking at her with a pleading expression on his face, like a hurt puppy. Who could say ‘no’ to such a face? With a sigh, she gives in and nods. “Fine. If it makes you feel better.”

Without wasting time, Geralt stands up and in the process, he slides an arm behind Jaskier’s knees and the other around her waist.

“Geralt! What are you doing? I can walk, you brute. Put me down!”

That’s what she yells, but her arms wrap automatically around her witcher’s neck. He carries her to their room, followed by the other witchers, and carefully puts her down on the bed. 

Then, Vesemir steps forwards.

“If you’re uncomfortable with something, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Jaskier nods without hesitation. This is the man who raised Geralt, after all. One of the most important people in her witcher’s life. “I will. But don’t worry, I trust you.”

The old witcher turns around with his sharp gaze. “Well? Don’t you have anything else to do?”

Eskel and Lambert avert their eyes and mumble something that only a witcher’s ears can understand. After they leave, Jaskier notices that Geralt has crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to make himself smaller.

She meets his uncertain gaze and smiles. “You can stay, darling.”

“Hmm.”

“Now,” Vesemir’s voice draws the attention back to him. “I’m going to ask you some questions.”

Jaskier nods and shifts slightly on the bed to get more comfortable.

“Did you eat or drink anything unusual in the last few days? I mean even before coming here.”

She thinks for a moment. “No, nothing I haven’t tried before at least once.”

“Have you ever suffered from nausea?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Hm.” The old witcher frowns, apparently considering other options. “Would you allow me to touch you?”

Without hesitation, Jaskier nods again.

Vesemir sits in front of her and reaches out with his hand. He places it on her forehead and then closes his eyes. 

Silence falls in the room until he reopens them. Briefly, Jaskier wonders if he’s listening to her heartbeat. Geralt probably is.

“I’m going to touch your abdomen now.” 

He informs her before moving his hand and resting it gently there as said. A few moments after closing his eyes again, he lets out a grunt that Jaskier can’t decipher. Then, Vesemir pulls away and stands up. He shoots a glance at Geralt but doesn’t look at anyone in particular when he opens his mouth to speak.

“This isn’t my area of expertise.” He explains, with an unreadable expression on his face. “I might be wrong, but if we want to be sure, we have to call someone else to check.”

“Who?” Her witcher asks.

“A mage, perhaps.” His old mentor suggests.

A pause. Then, Geralt slowly turns towards Jaskier and she furrows her brows at the pleading look on his face. Why would he look at her like that? What is he going to say that might require such a fine strategy to convince her?

Unless…

Oh. No. He wouldn’t dare.

“Oh, no, no, no. Not _her_.”

“Jaskier.”

“This is beyond ridiculous.” She gestures wildly at herself. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“It doesn’t have to be Yennefer.”

Another pause.

“Please.”

Jaskier sighs, because what else can she do? “Alright. What other sexy and insane witch do you know?”

***

“I am Triss Merigold.” 

The curly-haired woman with dark chocolate eyes is wearing a rather beautiful emerald green dress that Jaskier wouldn’t mind stealing. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look mean or creepy at all. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet Geralt’s famous bard.”

Jaskier raises her brows and turns to her witcher with a smirk. “I like her.”

“Hmm.”

Triss chuckles softly before addressing the two male occupants of the room. “Would you mind leaving us alone, gentlemen?”

Geralt and Vesemir exchanges a glance and then nod at the same time.

They exit and close door behind them, leaving Jaskier alone with the sorceress, who turns towards her with a polite smile on her face. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Very well, actually.” Jaskier replies honestly. “Geralt is just overacting. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Triss steps closer to the bed. “He cares about you a great deal.”

Jaskier’s cheeks warm up a little. She knows that’s true, of course, but it’s still nice to hear other people acknowledge it. “Yes, he does.”

The sorceress sits down before starting to explain what she’s going to do. After Jaskier gives her permission Triss lifts her own hand, which begins to glow with a peculiar green light. She passes it over Jaskier’s forehead and then lets it travel down her body slowly. When she reaches Jaskier’s lower abdomen, her hand stops. It lingers there for a few instants, but then Triss’s lips part, forming a small and silent ‘o’.

“What is it?”

“It’s… well…” Triss hesitates before finally looking up to meet her confused blue gaze. “Jaskier. You’re pregnant.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. Before she can even think of how to produce any coherent sound, the door of the bedroom bursts open and a handful of witchers falls on the floor with more than one loud thud.

“What the–”

“How could you?!” Lambert is the first who springs to his feet and points his accusing finger at Jaskier. “I thought you cared about Geralt!”

“Lambert.” Geralt warns, once he manages to get up as well, after pushing Eskel’s weight off him.

“No.” The younger witcher scowls and grits his teeth. “Shut up, unless you’re gonna tell me that you two had some sort of open relationship and you could fuck whoever you wanted. Because if not, she betrayed your trust, Geralt. That means she’s betrayed all of us.”

“Lambert, calm down.” Eskel moves forwards and grabs his brother’s arm to stop him.

“Jaskier hasn’t betrayed anyone.” Geralt declares suddenly.

Every head in the room turns to look at him. Even Jaskier, who is still too shocked to be able to do anything but watch.

Her witcher takes a deep breath and goes on. “We have spent together every single night for the past eight months.”

Lambert frowns, with more confusion than anger now. “But… that’s impossible.”

“I _know_ it’s impossible.”

“Impossible” the sorceress steps in with a wise tone, “is a very strong word.”

“Triss.” Jaskier calls, finding her voice again. She tries to ignore the way it shakes as she asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

Silence falls again among all the people in the room. Jaskier doesn’t have witchers’ enhanced hearing, but her ears can pick up the sound of different heartbeats anyway.

Then, she hears Triss speaking again.

“Maybe we should leave them alone now.”

The sorceress turns towards the door, while Eskel and Lambert exchange a few glances before following quietly.

Vesemir, who has been standing on the threshold the whole time, steps aside to let everyone pass. Finally, he shuts the door.

Jaskier blinks a few times, trying to collect her thoughts. When her eyes search for Geralt, she finds him staring at the floor. Taking a deep breath, she slowly stands up and approaches him.

“Geralt?”

If she hadn’t spent all those years by his side she wouldn’t have noticed anything. But she had. So, now it’s not hard to see when Geralt’s jaw clenches and his shoulders tense ever so slightly. 

“I… I don’t… I didn’t know this could happen.”

“Neither did I.” Jaskier almost laughs. Could anyone blame her? The world has just turned upside down and she doesn’t even know how or why, but that’s not important. Something has changed. Something deep inside her has awoken and it’s ready to grow.

No.

Not something. But _someone_.

She looks down at herself, a foolish smile tugging at her lips. “You can call it a miracle, I guess.” She says, as her hands begin to caress her own stomach with wonder. “A miracle of Love.”

“Jaskier.”

At Geralt’s firm tone, she jerks her head up only to meet the witcher’s stern gaze.

“We have to get rid of it.”

As if made of glass, Jaskier’s heart sinks and shatters into a million pieces. They start to cut her from the inside, like tiny but deadly blades.

***


	2. A power as old as destiny

***

She flees from the room. She runs and runs, letting her legs carry her without knowing where.

Someone calls her name, but she can’t hear it. Her heart is pounding against her chest and bleeding, as Geralt’s voice echoes in her ears.

_We have to get rid of it. Get rid of it. Get rid of it._

Jaskier’s vision is blurring with tears that fall across her cheeks. When her lugs can’t take it anymore, she bursts in the closest room available and shuts the door. Taking in the sight before her, she realises her legs haven’t led her just in a random place. 

The library. But she doubts that books can bring her comfort right now.

Jaskier buries her face in her hands and sobs, sinking to her knees.

Only a few moments pass before a knock on the door startles her.

“Jaskier.”

Of course, he followed her.

“Go away.” She chokes out.

“Jaskier, please.” Geralt insists. Then, he pauses, probably trying to find the words he wants to say. “You must listen to me. Whatever I put inside you isn’t human. We don’t know what it is, but it can’t be normal.”

How. How can he speak like that?

“Just go away. I don’t want to see you right now.”

No sound comes for a while from the other side of the door. But then, a weak voice reaches her ears and if Jaskier didn’t know better, she’d hardly believe it belongs to her witcher. 

“Alright.”

As the familiar footsteps move away, Jaskier pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, suddenly aware of the huge room she’s in. It’s painfully quiet and for the first time since she has come here, loneliness seeps in her heart.

Her hand falls on her stomach. A curiously protective gesture.

“I hope you didn’t hear anything, little miracle.” She whispers, before her eyes fill with more tears.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, cold and alone, before there’s another knock on the door. But the voice that follows is much different than the first.

“Jaskier? Are you there?”

_Triss._

“Could you open the door, please? I just want to help you.”

 _You can’t_ , Jaskier thinks. No one can help her. Not now. Not that sitting here and crying is going to make her feel any better either. She can handle herself, but she has never liked to be alone. And the sorceress was nice with her earlier. So, maybe…

Jaskier’s legs shake a little as she stands. Tentatively, she reaches for the knob and the door creaks open.

Triss is there alone. She gives her a small smile, but Jaskier doesn’t have the strength to return it.

“Did you hear what he said?” She asks, instead.

The sympathetic expression on the witch’s face twists into something like sorrow and regret. “I did.”

“I just… I can’t believe he…” her voice cracks, and again Jaskier wants to cry and even scream. “I know this is a shock for him, but it’s not like it wasn’t a surprise for me as well.”

“Of course.”

“Then why? Why was he so quick to reject this while I feel like I could die if anything happened to my child?”

 _My child._ Oh, shit, she’s already talking like a real mother. Is it the pregnancy? Her mother has warned her about the effects. She explained that women might become more demanding, need more attention and get easily emotional. She also told Jaskier, half-joking, that it wouldn’t be much different from her usual behaviour.

“I know it’s not easy, but you need to talk to him.”

Jaskier sighs. She knows Triss is right. She can’t leave things like that, but she doesn’t know where to begin.

A gentle hand rests on her arm, caressing it with a delicate gesture. “What about a cup of tea? We can go downstairs and I’ll make you some.”

Although the idea of a hot drink is very tempting, Jaskier hesitates as she thinks of what could happen if she agrees. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to see him.”

“Geralt has gone out. I don’t think he’ll be back before dinner. And the others are training outside.” Triss offers her another sweet smile. “It’ll be just you and me.”

Jaskier thought sorceresses were all the same. Proud, selfish and self-centred. Sometimes it’s good to find out you’re wrong. 

This time, she manages to smile back.

“Thank you, Triss. You’re an angel.”

***

As it turns out, Triss is indeed an angel. She makes tea for the two of them and while they’re drinking, she asks Jaskier about her songs, about her studies, about the music she likes to play and the poetry she reads. She also satisfies Jaskier’s curiosity about the life of a witch and tells her many stories of the courts she has visited. There’s so much gossip they could discuss. It’s a nice distraction. However, it cannot last long.

Later, Vesemir joins them and sits down next to Jaskier. He places a familiar dark red book in front of her on the table.

“You were reading this.”

It’s a statement, not a question. But Jaskier answers anyway.

“Yes.” She reaches out and her fingers trace every letter of the golden title written on the cover. “I didn’t get to finish it, though.”

“What do you think?”

“There are very beautiful poems in it. Each one of them tells a different story.” Her eyes twinkle with admiration for those who are able to create a universe of profound emotions and make other people dream thanks to it. That’s what an artist can do. Her lips curl in a soft smile. “They are all stories of Love.”

“One of the most powerful weapons in the world.” Vesemir emphasises the words in a solemn tone, as if pronouncing a sentence. “One that can make possible even what is believed to be impossible.”

He looks at Jaskier with something in his gaze that she can’t quite place. She might be wrong, but there appears to be a hint of nostalgia in it.

She blinks at him once she realises what the old witcher is saying. The poems she has read are all about this. A power that exercises its force through deep bonds that people create with each other. A power as old as Destiny. A power that Jaskier and Geralt have awoken without knowing. 

Triss extends her hand to touch hers and reminds Jaskier that she’s not alone. Jaskier squeezes it, trying not to think too much about the war of doubts and emotions going on inside her mind and heart.

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon like that and for some time, she manages to find comfort in their presence.

The sun has already set and the sky has darkened when a blast of evening breeze blows from the main door as Eskel and Lambert come in. Shirtless and sweaty, they walk towards the table and stop right in front of Jaskier.

Lambert looks down at his own feet as if wondering whether he needs a new pair of boots. Then, Eskel elbows him in the ribs and he jerks his head up to glare at him.

“Come on.”

The red-haired witcher grunts in way that reminds Jaskier of Geralt.

“I… uhm…” he stutters, still unable to meet her eyes, “I wanted to apologise. I shouldn’t have accused you like that earlier.”

To his credit, he does sound apologetic. Jaskier has known him just for two days, but she can tell that Lambert is a good man. He’s just a bit impulsive. She almost takes pity on him. The fact that he’s standing there with his chest bare and covered in sweat might help a little. “It’s okay, Lambert. You were just defending your brother. I understand.”

The witcher gives another grunt as a reply. “Besides, Geralt would’ve smelled it on you if you had–”

“Alright, let’s go now.” Eskel pats him on the back a bit too strongly and smirks. “It’s your turn to cook.”

Lambert groans, which probably means that he’s not particularly excited about it. But one look from his old mentor is all it takes to keep him from complaining.

As soon as he and his brother turn around to leave the main room, the door bursts open a second time. Jaskier shivers when the cold wind meets her skin.

Geralt bows his head as he walks in and avoids meeting her eyes, or anyone else’s. He stands there, looking torn between hiding somewhere or fleeing again.

He doesn’t get to make that decision, because suddenly Triss stands up from the table and approaches him.

Geralt’s gaze shifts from the floor to her and he frowns when she leans in to whisper something. They eye each other for a moment before turning towards Jaskier.

Her shoulders tense slightly. But then she stands up as well. She’s not ready to have this conversation, but in her defence, she has never dared dream she would need to have it. Not since she has fallen in love with Geralt.

And yet, here they are.

Next to her, a chair creaks as someone else stands. Vesemir places a hand on her shoulder and waits until she looks at him before squeezing gently. He simply lets his piercing gaze speak, and to her own surprise, Jaskier is able to take some courage from it.

A distant thought crosses her mind briefly.

_If he’s like a father to Geralt… he would be the child’s grandfather._

She doesn’t have time to process it, though. The old witcher steps back and she nods at him as a thank you before turning around.

Blue eyes meet amber for a brief moment and then she heads towards the stairs.

Familiar footsteps soon follow behind.

Jaskier doesn’t stop until she’s in front of their room. When she enters, she leaves the door open like a permission, but doesn’t face Geralt as he comes in.

There are only a few instants of hesitation before the door closes with a click behind her. At least they’ll have some privacy. 

“Jaskier.”

Geralt has yet to look at her when she turns around after hearing her own name. Her witcher shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“I’m sorry.” He says, eventually. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.” Of course she does and she has already forgiven him. Although the apology is nice to hear, that’s not why they’re here. Jaskier takes a deep a breath and reminds herself to stay calm. “We need to talk about this.”

Geralt grunts and gives a short nod.

She observes him carefully. “What are you so afraid of, Geralt? Is it because of the Path? I know you think such a life isn’t fitting for common human beings, least of all for a child, but–”

“It’s not just that.”

She pauses and frowns in confusion. “What is it, then?”

“Witchers are sterile for a reason. The mutations I went through are part of me and we can’t know how they might affect what you have inside you right now.” 

Geralt grits his teeth and shuts his eyes for a moment, as if speaking like this causes him an invisible pain. After letting out a shaky breath, he holds her gaze and goes on. 

“What if it’s dangerous? What if you give birth to a monster? What if… fuck, Jaskier, what if it _kills_ you?”

Jaskier stares at him. Unable to move, she tries to swallow a lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. Her witcher reaches out and gently cups her face with both of his large hands, leaning closer until their foreheads touch.

“I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Her chest clenches painfully as Geralt’s voice cracks. She lifts her hands over his and rubs her thumbs on his skin lightly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how you were feeling.” She admits. “I’m a bit scared, too. But, Geralt, if our love managed to cure your sterility… don’t you think this could be a good thing?”

“I don’t know.” He murmurs, while shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know and it scares me to death.”

“Oh, darling.” Her arms reach out and intertwine behind Geralt’s neck before pulling him into a warm embrace. Sometimes she forgets how far they have come since that day in Posada. It’s still strange to see her witcher so open and vulnerable, but her heart soars with the knowledge that he trusts her so much to show his true emotions.

“Julie.”

He whispers her pet name like a plea. His strong arms wrap around her waist, keeping her close, as if she might vanish any moment.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Jaskier clenches her jaw slightly and pulls away, enough to look at him. The fear that makes her heart beat faster than normal is the same reflected in her witcher’s eyes. But it has never stopped either of them before. 

“It’s our child we are talking about, Geralt.”

She doesn’t know where this determination comes from, but it has lit a flame inside her that grows more and more every second until it becomes inextinguishable. 

“I will do this. With or without you.”

Geralt’s lips part slightly. His tentative gaze shifts a bit lower from her face, towards her abdomen. 

“Our child.” He echoes, almost incredulous.

Jaskier takes one of his hand and smiles while gently guiding it to her belly. “Our little miracle.”

Geralt’s broad chest swells as he takes a deep breath. Then, he slowly kneels down in front of her and bends slightly forwards, after closing his eyes. He leans his forehead against the line where her belly button is and inhales softly.

“Please.”

The whisper barely reaches her ears and she’s not sure if she’s meant to hear it.

“Please, don’t hurt your mother.”

***


	3. Learning together

***

She closes the book with a small swat and slumps back into the chair, sighing heavily.

Next to her, Triss stands up to return her own book to the shelf where it belongs, in the magic section of the library. “How many times have you read it already?”

There’s a sympathetic look on the sorceress’ face. It’s the same she has been giving Jaskier for several weeks now.

“I lost count.”

Every single word of that dark red book is stunk in her head by now, but she has yet to find what she’s looking for. At this point, she isn’t even sure what it is. A clue, perhaps, of how Love and its powers work. But mostly, she wanted to see how many of those stories actually have a happy ending.

 _Law of Love_ is the best translation, she has decided.

Triss is about to walk back towards the desk when she stops by the window. She pushes the curtains out of the way and something must catch her eye, because she turns to Jaskier with a small smirk as she announces, “He’s back.”

Jaskier rolls her eyes and groans. “Oh, gods, what did he catch this time?”

“Looks like a bear.”

“Another?” She stands from the chair to join Triss and follows the sorceress’s gaze outside. It leads her to look at the gate of the keep, where Geralt appears while carrying the wild animal on his back. “Melitele help us.”

Triss chuckles. “I think it’s quite adorable.”

“I’m sure it is, from _your_ point of view.” Jaskier shoots her a glare without any real heat behind it. This has been going on for weeks since they found out Jaskier is with child. As happy as she is that Geralt has accepted that they are going to be parents, his behaviour is getting ridiculous, but it’s not so strange nor unfamiliar. Her witcher’s protective instincts must have kicked in, like when they had just got together. 

It started with small things, with more touches, more breaks during a long journey on the road, more hours of rest. It evolved into letting Jaskier ride Roach more often, giving her flowers and other gifts, asking her to sing while they were alone under the stars and growling out loud every time someone became too friendly with her. This possessive side of Geralt is such a turn-on, sometimes. 

Jaskier understands it. Truly. She wants to do everything she can to protect their child as well. But _this_ is too much. 

That’s what she repeats in her head as she walks down the stairs to go to the main hall. A faint smell of blood reaches her nose a moment before the carcass of the bear comes into view.

Her witcher has abandoned it on the floor and now he stands there, small crimson stains covering his armour.

“Geralt.” She sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We talked about this.”

Geralt’s brows are knitted together in an expression that is more serious than it should be. “Snowstorms aren’t rare here. You need to stay warm.”

“We already have enough furs to last a thousand winters.”

“You also need more food. You’re eating for two.”

“I’m plenty satisfied with the food I get and there’s no way you’ll convince me to eat bear stew.” Jaskier grimaces and shudders at the mere thought. She has eaten worse stuff in ten years of following a witcher, but it doesn’t mean she’ll do it again if she can avoid it.

“I told you she wouldn’t like this.” Lambert teases while trying to take his own dirty armour off.

“Hm.” Geralt scowls at him. “I didn’t ask you.”

Before they can start bickering like stubborn children, Vesemir enters the hall and his golden eyes fall on the dead animal on the floor. 

“Get that thing away from my carpet.”

Lambert starts laughing, but the old witcher silences him with a single glance and a few words. “Both of you. Now.”

With a grumble but no more complaints, the two brothers lift the carcass and move it towards the kitchen.

Eskel chuckles, probably glad that this time he wasn’t involved in the hunt or anything else. When he and Jaskier lock eyes across the room, he offers one of his kind smiles and walks up to her. 

“I understand it can be frustrating.” The dark-haired witcher begins. “But don’t be too hard with him. Witchers are made to hunt and this is the only thing he can do right now to show he can protect and provide for you.”

“But I know he can. He doesn’t need to show anything.” Jaskier pauses and frowns. Does Geralt really think he has something to prove? He has spent years taking care of Jaskier while they travelled. Sure, he had his own ways to do it and at the beginning he did it reluctantly, but their relationship has changed a lot over the past few months. There’s no one else Jaskier would like to have at her side more than Geralt, but she doesn’t want this to be a burden for either of them. “I fear he’s worrying too much about everything. It can’t be good.”

Eskel hums a little next to her and then places a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “You love each other. I’m sure you’ll find a way to work things out together.”

Jaskier tries to smile at him. “I hope so.”

***

Triss chooses that afternoon to announce that she’s leaving.

“Already?”

“Duty calls, I’m afraid. I must return to Aretuza.” She explains in an apologetic tone. “I promise I’ll come back once a week to check on you. And if there’s anything you need, you can always call me with the charm and spell like I taught you.”

Jaskier takes both her hands and gives the sorceress a grateful smile. If a few months ago someone had told her that one day she’d see a witch as a true friend, she would have laughed in their face. But a lesson she has learnt rather recently is that many things can change very quickly.

“Thank you, Triss. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” Triss replies, smiling as well. Then, she turns to Geralt – who stands next to Jaskier – and shares with him a knowing look. “It won’t be easy, but in the end everything will be alright. I can feel it.”

Geralt doesn’t seem quite as sure, but he settles on a neutral grunt. “Hmm.”

Triss steps back then and lifts her arm, ready to open a portal. But before she can do her magic, she stops and turns towards them once more. After biting her lip, with some hesitation, she finally asks, “If I see Yennefer… should I tell her something?”

Jaskier blinks a few times, taken aback by the sudden question. Without knowing what to reply, she turns to her side, only to find Geralt already looking at her.

 _Your choice_ , his eyes seem to say.

“I… I don’t want this to be a secret.” She keeps holding her witcher’s gaze, just to see how he reacts to her words. “I don’t care who knows. But, perhaps, it’d be better if she finds out thanks to you, Triss, rather than any other way.”

The sorceress nods. Then, with a flick of her hand, reality blends enough to create a human-sized vortex. After giving them one last smile, Triss walks through it and disappears.

Jaskier wonders what it’d be like to travel like that, but she isn’t sure if she’s up to try it. A few moments of silence pass, before she turns to her witcher again.

“Do you disagree with what I said?”

Geralt shrugs. “I don’t care if Yennefer knows or not. She’s not part of this.”

That is true, of course. Yennefer has nothing to do with this. Last time they saw her was a few years ago, when she and Geralt had the umpteenth argument and then went they separate ways, without even trying to sort things out with sex like they used to. Jaskier can still remember how her blood boiled as she watched the nasty effect the witch had on Geralt. But now, with her mind clear from jealousy and anger, Jaskier feels some sort of compassion towards her. It’s not a secret that sorceresses are often unable to give birth and Yennefer has made it painfully obvious that she wants to find a solution to this problem. She and Geralt have been together and it didn’t work. Now, Jaskier is pregnant with Geralt’s child.

“I’m going out.”

Geralt’s voice wakes Jaskier from her trail of thoughts. She blinks a few times before her mind register the words. And when it does, she frowns at him.

“To do what? Kill yet another wild animal and then bring it here like you did this morning and yesterday and day before?”

“There’s not much else to do.”

Jaskier has to take a deep breath and remind herself not to snap. It won’t do them any good. Instead, she takes a step towards her witcher and reaches for his hand. She doesn’t want to be upset or angry at him. She just wants…

“Stay with me.”

Geralt glances down at their now intertwined fingers and then looks up, raising a brow.

There’s hesitation in his gaze. A potential opening for Jaskier. They have been distant in the last few weeks, since the day they found out she’s expecting. And it’s not a matter of space (even as huge as Kaer Morhen is). Maybe it’s Jaskier’s fault as well. She spent most of her time with Triss or closed herself in the library, while Geralt was hunting or training. She wanted to give her witcher time to think, allow him to let off some steam on his own. But the only result she has accomplished is having them almost always apart. This is hardly what she wants and it’s been going on for too long.

That’s when it strikes her.

“Geralt!” 

She jumps in front of him, startling him, even though he should be used to her cheerful energy by now. She grabs both of his hands, as if she’s about to drag him into a new adventure.

“We need a cradle!”

Her witcher blinks at her. “What?”

“For the baby. They can’t always stay in our bed. They’ll need a suitable place just for them, which must be very comfortable and warm.”

“Jaskier.” He stops her before she can go on.

“Yes?”

“I have no idea how to build a cradle.”

“We can do it together.” She suggests, with an excited smile spreading on her face. “We just have to try. There’s still so much time, after all.”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunts and averts his eyes, frowning slightly like when he’s calculating the best moment to attack a monster. “We’ll need wood. I’m going to chop some.”

Jaskier grins widely now, as if she has just won a bardic competition, and leans closer to kiss her witcher’s nose. Her most precious reward. 

“I’m coming with you.”

***

As it turns out, building a cradle without any knowledge of how to build one is very challenging. It becomes almost impossible if you stop to check every single detail, if every second you change your mind about the best type of wood to use, and especially if you are the anxious soon-to-be parent of the child who the cradle is for.

Every single day, they spend two or three hours working on it for the rest of the winter.

Meanwhile, the snow begins to melt, as the sun grows warmer and the day longer. Birds start chirping their songs on the trees that surround the keep. Even up in the mountains, spring makes itself known.

Under ordinary circumstances, the witchers would have already left Kaer Morhen. But a witcher getting a woman pregnant is far from ordinary. Geralt refuses to travel with Jaskier in her delicate condition and Vesemir has told them they are more than welcomed to stay. Jaskier knows this place doesn’t hold many fond memories of Geralt’s childhood, but it’s also the only home her witcher has, where he feels as safe as ever. It soon became Jaskier’s home as well and she can’t think of a better place to raise their child.

The old witcher also didn’t have the heart to scold his two other sons for delaying their departure. Not this year. However, the Path calls them in the end and they can’t help but answer.

That’s why Jaskier and Geralt find themselves at the gate of the keep, in front of Eskel and Lambert, who have just prepared their bags and horses.

“You said the baby is due in midsummer, right?” Eskel asks.

“Exactly.” Jaskier nods and adjusts the furs on her shoulders. Geralt insisted she wore it, even though the winter breeze hadn’t blown for days.

“We’ll be back for it.”

“Yeah,” the red-haired witcher confirms, “we wouldn’t miss it even if a cockatrice was eating the entire royal family of whatever kingdom.”

Geralt snorts and shakes his head. Jaskier chuckles. “Thanks for the thought, Lambert. We appreciate it.”

After Geralt exchanges tight hugs with his brothers and Jaskier kisses each of them on both cheeks, the two witchers take their leave.

The path ahead is greener than Jaskier has ever seen and also painted with a few colourful brushes of the first flowers of the season. She wonders how this view will change as time passes and how it will look like when summer comes.

Later that night, when they are in their room after dinner, Jaskier stands next to the recently finished cradle. As she runs her fingers on its borders, a smile spreads on her face and her mind fills with images of a baby tucked in soft blankets and looking (maybe with beautiful golden eyes) at Geralt and Jaskier while they rock the cradle gently to make their little miracle fall asleep.

“Come to bed.” Geralt murmurs behind her, loud just enough to be heard, as if he doesn’t want to disturb her. Maybe he understands what’s on her mind.

Once she has put her nightdress on, she slips under the furs, facing him.

“You know, we should start thinking about names.”

“Hmm.” An acknowledging grunt. Then, “There’s still a lot of time.”

“Well, yes. But we need to consider different options. I already have a list of names inspired by flowers and their poetic meanings.”

“Of course you do.”

“They could work for a boy or a girl. Or both.”

Geralt, who has already closed his eyes, suddenly reopens them and frowns. “What do you mean _both_?”

Jaskier pauses and looks at him for a moment. 

“I did tell you about my family, didn’t I? You know I have an older sister as well as two little brothers who are twins.” They have always been two little menaces, but her father was oh so proud to finally have his own boys, after having to deal with two daughters. Jaskier hasn’t talked much about that part with Geralt. She might have also failed to mention that her mother had almost died while she was giving birth to the second twin. It’s only thanks to a powerful mage that she managed to survive with no permanent damage to herself or her son.

Jaskier averts her eyes from her witcher and licks her lips. She was old enough at the time to remember it. The terrified cries from the midwives, the screams of pain, her nursemaid and her sister holding Jaskier back from running to the room to see her mother. But everything went well, so there’s no reason to worry about it now. Right?

“I mean… we won’t know for sure until the moment comes, but no one says there won’t be two of them.”

Geralt blinks once. Twice. A comically slow motion. “Two.” 

Jaskier laughs at the dumbfounded look on his face. “Hence, our need to find some names.”

He opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something. But, unsurprisingly, all it comes out is… “Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls her eyes and huffs before turning around in the bed, so now her back faces her witcher. “You’re as brooding as the first day I met you.”

She receives a shorter but slightly more amused grunt in response. Then, the mattress shifts under her and the next thing she feels is a pair of lips pressing tenderly against her shoulder. Mere seconds later, a protective hand caresses her waist and slips forwards, only to settle on the growing bump of her belly.

Jaskier smiles to herself as she remembers why she has fallen in love with this man since the very first moment she saw him.

***


End file.
